


The Elephant in the Moon

by CornHuskDruid



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, F/F, F/M, Heartbreak, Human, M/M, Violent divorce
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-03-13 02:53:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3365021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CornHuskDruid/pseuds/CornHuskDruid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Dave Strider and the love of your life is getting married tomorrow.</p><p>When John Egbert proposes to Vriska Serket, Dave knows it's over. In all the years they have known each other, John has never once even showed a sign of acknowledging Dave's affection for him, let alone returning it. So Dave does the only thing he can do. He runs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So this is one of the very first fics that I have ever written and yeah thumbs up or whatever but I just want to say thanks for reading it in the first place.
> 
> Just some important notes-
> 
> 1) Yes, this is a Johndave, or PepsiCola, fic, but it's going to be quite a while before anything actually starts to get into motion.
> 
> 2) Even though I haven't written yet, there's going to be a lot of potentially triggering stuff in later chapters, circling around the trolls.
> 
> 3) I am looking for an editor, especially someone who is good at role playing or writing Karkat because I can't for shit.
> 
> 4) I really hope you enjoy and please comment any criticism or questions.

It wasn't always this hard to look him in the eye. You and John have always been the best of friends, totally inseparable. Maybe that's why it was so easy to fall for him.

You can't believe you agreed to it. He came up to you with his sweet little dorky grin that you've always wanted to kiss the shit out of, looked you straight in the eye, and asked you to be his best man as if it was the most carefree thing in the world. Maybe it was for him, but it wasn't for you. You had known that he was going to ask you. The two of you had made a pact about it back in middle school. Even then you had secretly been hoping that neither of you would even be able to be the best man.

You started wearing your shades as constantly as possible. Red eyes don't do well with red rims. You were going to say no. You were going to drop the news on your plan to pack up and leave, move all the way to California, where you were planning on supporting yourself through a sweet ass record shop and a YouTube account. It should have been so obvious that you were going to say yes. Maybe it was all the sleepless nights or the fact that John could get you to do absolutely anything for him. That's why you didn't tell him about your plan. The morning after next, they'll wake up to find you gone without a trace.

The boxes are stacked to the ceiling all around you, while you're curled up on the couch, clutching the stupid photos of him to your chest. It doesn't matter if they get stained with the tears streaking down your face, its not like you're going to keep them anyway. A new life calls for a blank slate, doesn't it? That's why you're scrapping everything, even your name. You've always wanted to be some punk brunette named Richie Smith. It's not an extreme, it's an insurance policy that you don't get tracked down and forced through this heartbreak again.

Maybe he'll weep when he finds your empty apartment, maybe he'll sit in silence. Maybe it won't matter to him at all since he has a new life to worry about. You can see it now, John's wide eyes when Bro tells everyone the news with his stone cold expression. John will smile a sad smile, turning to his new wife for a moment of comfort. His sister Jade will look stunned while your cousin Rose will close her eyes to send a thought of "you stupid man" your way. Still, it won't make a difference. You've known that and you've accepted it.

Once upon a time you thought that maybe, just maybe you had a chance. Then the beauty of Vriska Serket walked into the coffee shop, a predatory smile on her face, sauntering around the room and practically flapping her elaborately tattooed arm. Her gaze had fallen on John like a hawk on its prey. She had strolled right over as soon as their eyes met. That was the moment that you knew it was over for you. John became dreamy eyed and more engulfed in their conversation that any that the two of you had ever had. You knew that look. It was the look you always gave John, who didn't even see it and throw one of his "I am not a homosexual" speeches. Oh how you had hoped maybe, just maybe he was bisexual like you. Oh how you had been let down yet again.

As you lay here now, still recounting the events that make your heartbreak a blinding pain that could end it all for you just on its own, you can see Vriska walking down the altar and John staring straight past you, at his beautiful bride to be; you can't blame him, she is truly gorgeous. Even when you told him that something didn't' feel right about her, he got right down on his knee and proposed anyway. You've seen the dress; it looks like spiders and silk worms spun it out of diamonds and crystal. Anyone who Vriska's eye doesn't catch must be blind. You never had a chance.

You let the tear stained photos fall out of your hands and onto the floor, scattering everywhere. It might not be the best idea, since you have to clean it up early in the morning, but you'd rather cry yourself to sleep tonight. It's better to finally have some rest anyway.


	2. The Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with Davey Crocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured I might as well post chapter one today, seeing as the prologue really isn't that much, and at some point I'll figure out how to label them. Heh.

"Hey, Dave, what do you think?" John turns around to face you. He's dressed in his tuxedo, wearing a lopsided bow tie and his hair in yet another failed attempt to comb it back. You sigh, this always happens

"Dude, you can't expect me to always be here to fix your shitty ass bow ties," you step forward, yanking the bow tie loose. John makes a dorky little pouty face at you.

"You can't just move in with Vriska and me? I'd be happy to hire you as my personal Bow Tie Advisor."

The thought of actually moving in with John sends a tingle down your spine, but you quickly cover it up with a sharp, emotionless laugh, "Oh screw you Egbert. Besides, these lil' shits aren't the only thing you're going to need help with."

"Oh really, what else do you suggest I appoint you to take care of?" You flip his collar back down and turn him around, grabbing a comb from the table and running it through his hair.

"Damn, Egbert, your hair is the first thing we need to work on. Hey, I think I need about fifty cans of hair gel in here, boys!"

"Dave!"

"Jesus, Egbert, I'm working on it. But I think we both know that you could use a little work when it comes to pleasing the wifey.

John turns around and slaps your hand, "Dave! Jesus, PG rating please!" He's still grinning his fucking face off at you, his crazy hair only making it all the cuter.

"Wow, its like you're twelve again. You do know they drop hints in _Shrek_ , right, Egbert?"

"Dave!" He's still grinning from ear to ear. It always puts a pocket of warmth in your belly when you can get him to do that, "Stop ruining my childhood and get back to helping me. I think we both know what a dangerous road employee retaliation is."

You stick the comb back in his hair, managing to tug it into something that looks halfway decent, "Calm your tits, Egbert, it's not like you're meeting the Queen or anything. You can relax."

John turns back around, his grin subsiding to a tiny little smile teasing at the corner of his lips. "Yeah, Dave," he says, practically whispering it, "It kind of is like that. I'm getting married to the love of my life. This is a big moment for me, a defining moment for _both_ of us."

John's words hit home. The traces of authenticity from you smile completely fade away as you turn around to open the door for him. "Come on Mr. Macho Man," you say in a teasing tone, thanking the heavens above for your supernatural ability to always keep your cool kid guise, "There's a beautiful women waiting out there for you. Your jaw is going to fucking drop and walk itself all the way to China when you see her, now what are you waiting for?"

John beams at you again, walking through the open door. "Now that's' the Dave I know and love."

 _If only_ , you think as John walks down the hall beside you, _if only_.

-*-*-*-

Sure enough, John is as good as a drugged lab chimp when Vriska starts walking down the isle. Her dress shimmers like light reflecting off of water. If not for your shades, the dress might have blinded you. The trail must be ten feet long or something, because it takes both Terezi and Jade to carry it down the isle. Terezi's eyes dart up to catch your own. The organ music does little to fill the uncomfortable gap between the two of you. You turn your head away to watch as Vriska finally reaches the altar, but you can still feel her gaze lingering on you.

John and Vriska turn to each other, staring all sappy into each other's eyes. You can feel waves of pure joy wafting off of them, which would be enough to make you sick if it was any other wedding. The priest starts blabbering on and on about religion and what not, but you don't pay any attention. The objection part catches at you like cloth on barbed wire, but then it slips away through you fingers. You had fantasized about that moment, imagining yourself stepping forward, saying "I object" loud and clear, then spinning John around and kissing him right there for all the world to see. Once or twice, the fantasy even involved an efficient middle finger to Vriska as John melted into you arm, but none of that changes the fact that there was no way that it was actually going to happen. You can feel a lump in your throat as John lifts Vriska's veil. You send another grateful thank you up to the heavens as you avert your eyes from under you impenetrable shades

The newly wed couple beam at each other as they step down and away from the altar. John flashes a smile at you, which just fires a flaming arrow into your chest. You wish that you could drop to you knees and start sobbing right here and now, but it simply doesn't work that way.

Vriska tosses her bouquet up in the air as they turn to walk out the door. You watch it spiral up and up, then tumble down, straight into the hands of... Terezi. She looks at you with a pain in her eyes. You both are acutely aware at how uncomfortable this situation has just gotten, considering the two of you broke up just barely over a month ago. The rest of the guests are oblivious to this. You try to catch John's eye, the two of you have always seemed to be able to that even when you're wearing your shades, but he's already gone. You let out a sigh, walking out the door. It's time for the reception, which is exactly where you should already be.

You walk down the hall, around other guests. In the reception hall of the church, John and Vriska are already seated at their place at the table. You walk over, but hesitate to take your place next to John. There's still some time before the dinner starts, and you really don't want to have to be this close to him already. Instead, you walk over to the caterers who are already filing in, trying to distract yourself with rechecking the food. Soon, you have no choice but to walk back over to the newly wed couple and take your place at the table.

Everything starts becoming a blur. Guests file in and take their seats, you give your speech at some point, and so do others. You can remember funny stories and sarcastic comments that were stated here or there, but which mouth they came from completely evades you. John and Vriska's first dance together becomes a blotchy blur of white and black, with blues swirling in and out of the picture. It takes you a moment to actually realize that you're crying, or at least about to. The cool kid guise can't hide tears streaming down your face.

You walk into the single room bathroom, turning around and locking the door. You sigh in relief, closing your eyes and taking off your shades. The tears flow freely, your breath starting to hitch. You sink down to the ground, leaning against the door. This is so stupid; you're a grown man now. _But John was the love of you life and now he's gone. You can never get him back; you're screwed forever,_  the voice in the back of your head won't shut the fuck up. You stand up, about to spin on your heel and scream with a good punch to the door, when a sharp rap on the wood stops you.

"You almost done in there? I've got to go," someone says.

You have to take a second to step back and straighten yourself out, gulping down the streaming tears. "Yeah, sorry, dude. I'll be right out, " you grab a paper towel, running it under cold water and wiping at your red eyes. There is no way you can last the rest of the reception like this. You sniff, tossing the wet towel and putting your shades back on. "You've got this, Strider. There was never a day when you let this get the better of you."

The man outside of the bathroom gratefully scurries in; practically dancing he has to pee so badly. You beeline over to the table where John is standing, talking to Rose and his parents, Jane and Jake as you know them. John turns towards you as you reach out to tap him on the shoulder.

"Hey, Dave! I just want to tell you how much fun it is! You should dance, you know. A party ain't a party if there be no dancing!" his speech is slightly slurred and his general stance seems to lean over to one side. It unnerves you a bit more than it should, like some kind of catastrophe is about to happen, but then again, just look around. You glance over at Rose. She mimes taking a drink of something. John is tipsy all right.

You pull him aside, his expression a stupid smile the entire time. "Hey, Egbert, congrats man," he gives you a thumbs up in return, "Listen, I'm going to go now if that's okay. I just didn't get much sleep last night. Is that okay?"

John makes an unexpected move and pulls you into a hug. "Night _Daaavey_ Crockett!" _he really is drunk_ , "I'll see you next night, won't I? The things I could do to you, Dave, " he cheerfully pulls away and kisses you right on the cheek, stumbling back to his parents. His last words are still hanging in the air as you stare after him, too shocked to think of what to do or say. _You just misheard because his words are so slurred. He was drunk and he could have said anything!_

You walk briskly out the door, still clutching your cheek. Your car is sitting right there, waiting for you. Even though you're legally an adult and live on your own, your brother never let you get anything other than this huge ass, tinted window, minivan until you were thirty. Even though the four-year wait won't matter anymore when you get out of here, you're truly grateful. You can actually fit all of the belongings that you want to take. You climb into the driver's seat and slam the gas to _get the hell out of here. What John said was just your imagination. John is married now and you were just fantasizing that your life here wasn't totally pointless._

The road feels eerily empty and silent as you drive on. For some reason you hesitate to turn on the radio, as if John already knew you were leaving and somehow cheated his way onto it just to convince you to come back. It sounds like something out of a stupid love movie. It's certainly something that would never happen in real life. If anything like that could happen to you, then John wouldn't have just married Vriska. John would be nothing but rainbows and that would be your wedding back there if this were a reality like that. The tears start to stream again. You rip off your shades and start laughing. Being able to marry John would involve Texas passing the law that gay marriage was legal. The two of you would have to move halfway across the country if you wanted anything of the sort. Good thing you were moving to California. _Right?_


	3. The Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with Bro and the neon tiger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I lied. I have successfully (at least I think) written Karkat and it feels like a huge leap towards god hood.
> 
> *weilds keyboard in heroic stance*
> 
> Personally, this is my favorite chapter so far and you'll start to get a sneak peak on the... Interesting things (if that's how you want to put it) in store (hint hint Gamzee hint hint).

Brrrzzz, brrrzzz, brrrzzz, brrrzzz, who the fuck is calling you this early in the morning? You groan as you move your hand around the bedside table, trying to find your phone. Your alarm crashes off of the table, but you find it. Rubbing you eyes you press the green button and bring it to your ear, answering in a gruff, groggy voice "Yeah?"

"Dave! Where the fuck are you!"

_Oh._

"You're supposed to be here man, what happened?"

_Oh shit._

"Dave? Come on, stop being so lazy and say something."

_You should have never answered._

"Dude, are you okay?

_You forgot about yesterday._

"Come on please, I thought we were going to hang out tonight."

_You forgot about what he said yesterday. You didnt think he'd renember!_

"Dave?"

_How could you be so stupid?_

"What the fuck, man! Answer me!"

You hold the phone as far away from you as possible, clapping your hand over your mouth. The pain in your chest starts growing again and your eyes start watering. You pinch the bridge of your nose, crinkling you eyebrows together, bending over to slam your forehead on your knee.

"Stop being so childish! I'm coming over to your place now."

_Beep._

"Dammit, Strider," you say to yourself, throwing the phone down on the bed. You take a moment to stare at John on the screen before it disappears. The motel alarm clock on the ground reads 6:27. You must've been exhausted to sleep for almost thirteen hours.

The motel shower is almost as dirty as the bed. That being said, this is still probably nicer than other motels you could have ended up at. You're more worried about a power outage than cockroaches, which would make you rate the place a B on the scale of roadside motels. Then again, your knowledge about these places is completely based off of movies.

When you step out of the bathroom, you find a bag of clothes at the end of the bed. You really must have been tired, considering you don't remember checking in or climbing into bed. You grab a fresh pair of clothes out of the bag, heading back towards the bathroom. _Brrrzzz,_ your phone buzzes again. You hesitate to pick it up. _Brrrzzz._

There are two missed calls and six texts from John. You aren't going to be answering those any time soon, or any time at all for the matter. You need to replace your phone and any social media or whatever else that could help track you down. Interestingly enough though, the most recent texts are from your brother.

_Meet me at Gracie's Diner down the street - Bro_

_They don't know I've found you - Bro_

Leave it to your puppet ass ninja brother to find you with no trail.

-*-*-*-

He's already sitting in a booth when you arrive at the diner. He's still wearing his normal baseball cap, triangle shades, and ridiculous looking skintight shirt with a turned up collar. Sometimes you wonder if he's secretly a character out of Rocky Horror Picture Show trying to appear like a normal person. The butt load (no pun intended) of smuppet asses filling his apartment sure doesn't help his case at all.

When you walk over and sit down all he does is hand you a menu. His expression stays as emotionless as ever, but you know that there's something going on behind his shades. Both of you can become unreadable, except for your eyes. That "eyes are the windows to the soul" shit was written when the Striders were first born. There's no wonder why the two of you wear such dark shades. Between both pairs, the other's face looks about as expressive as a brick wall.

Bro doesn't actually talk to you until the waitress has come with your order. He's eating nothing more than a cup of coffee and a plate full of bacon; typical porno ninja brother behavior. The waitress gives you a funny look as she sets down your glass of apple juice and a plain hamburger, but you pretend not to notice. She walks away with her tray, shooting more funny looks back at your booth as the two of you sit there, completely still and silent.

After a few moments you move for your glass of apple juice. You don't care what any "adult" says because apple juice is the timeless drink of the gods. Your move seems to cue Bro to start eating too. He takes a sip of his coffee as you bite into your burger, solemnly placing the mug back on the table

"I'm not going to tell you to come back you know," he says, picking up a strip of greasy, charred bacon. 

"Then why did you come here," the hamburger's taste is so artificial that you think it might be Styrofoam.

"Because I know what you're going through, lil' man. I've been there." 

That sentence stops you for a moment. You thought that no one knew. But of course Bro could see that you were in love with John. Even with their pitch-black shades, Striders are far from blind. "No shit?"

"No shit."

"Maybe no shit will be our always." 

Bro bites into another sickening looking strip of bacon. "I'm serious, Dave. I know how much seeing the person you love walk away hurts. You have to believe that I'm deeper than my katana collection."

"I guess I never really thought about it that way. There's not much room for the mind to wonder when you're drowning in velvet puppet asses."

"Fair enough.

The next few minutes are silence again. Both of you continue to eat your disgusting food. Honestly you wonder how much more you have to eat before they stick you in a taxidermy museum. You finally decide on a question, catching Bro off guard.

"What was their name?

"What?"

"What was their name? The person that you loved.

"Jake."

_Oh,_ "You don't mean-

"Yes. It was John's father."

"With-

"Yes. With Jane."

Well that explains a lot, you want to say, but it just comes out as a tiny, "Oh."

Bro's face still doesn't change. He takes another sip of coffee, sighing. "I wish I had had the courage you have right now. I wish that I had moved on instead of staying around, just hanging onto the last thread of hope."

You shake your head, "You call this courage?"

"Yes.

"You're my brother but you're still an idiot."

"Says the lil' man who decided to pick up and move to a new life where he could actually be happy. That's courage, Dave."

"Don't," you can hear your voice start to waver.

"Don't what?"

"Don't call me that. Don't call me lil' man, don't call me Dave."

"What am I supposed to call you then? Strider? It gets a bit confusing after a while."

"Richie."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm going to change my name to Richie Smith."

There's a long pause of silence. Bro sits there with his mug halfway to his lips, just staring at you. _Oh my god, he's gonna-_ and Bro bursts into laughter. He sets his mug down, raising his hand to rub his eyes from under his shades. You sit there in silence, feeling infinitely more uncomfortable as people start to throw glances your way.

"Stop laughing!"

Bro waves his hand at you, like telling you to back off. He leans back in his booth with a smirk on his lips, a chuckle still resonating in his throat. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!"

"It's not!" You can feel your cheeks getting red.

"Yeah actually, it is. What else were you going to do? Dye your hair brown?" You can feel your cheeks get even hotter. You slump back into your booth, clenching your jaw. Bro is sent into another fit of laughter. "You were, weren't you? Oh, Jesus, Dave! You're twenty-six now! You should know better than such childish stuff! What did you use to help you plan this, _The Outsiders_?"

"I just really didn't wanna be tracked down, okay?"

"You don't need to change your name! What's next? Credit card fraud and fake social security numbers? Don't worry about being tracked down, I'll take care of it," he gives you a wink, something about as rare and hard to spot as Bigfoot.

"There's some other reason you came here. How'd you even fucking find me?"

"You really think that I didn't notice the boxes piling up in your apartment? One night I came over to force you into our regular sparring match and I found you sleeping on the couch, using a map as a blanket. It's really not that hard to put two and two together, especially when there's a red line marking it."

"But how'd you figure out where exactly I was right no-"

"The mystery only lasts if you don't question it, Dave." You could swear that his sunglasses just glinted like something out of one of his animes.

"Still."

Bro leans to the side, digging something out of his pocket. He pulls out his wallet, opening and retrieving a slip of paper. He hands the rectangular slip over to you, flipping it so that its front faces you. You can feel your jaw drop open like a character in _Loony Tunes._

"Bro, I can't. This check must be your entire-"

"It's just a little savings, to help with that record shop of yours." "But how did you-"

"I told you to not question the mystery." Yep, that's most definitely an anime glasses flash. 

"You do realize that this might be the last time we ever see each other..." Your voice trails off. A gaping pit filling the bottom of your stomach now accompanies the stabbing pain in your heart.

"Yes, I'm perfectly aware of that." 

"Then how can you be so fucking casual about it?"

"Dave," Bro grabs your shoulders, using one hand to tip your chin up so you're looking at him. He takes off his shades, signaling for you to do the same. You're conscious of your red-rimmed eyes, not even know if they're still puffy or not. Bro smiles sadly, his orange eyes pouring forth so much love that you want to wrap yourself in it.

"I am so fucking proud of you, Dave. You know that. I know that you are always going to do the right thing. Even if we're five thousand miles away from each other, I'm still your big brother and I'm still here to protect you. I want you to be happy. I want you to do what I never could. Buy that record shop, get rid of that fucking mini van, and stock up on all the apple juice you can get your hands on. Just don't forget who you are even if it hurts. This is a new chance, not a new life. See ya, lil' man." 

With that, Bro stands up, slapping a wad of cash on the table. He puts his shades back on, giving you a little smile as he tousles your hair and walks out the door. You know exactly what his eyes look like under his shades right now, but he still grins from ear to ear, giving you a little wave as he climbs into his car. You watch as the vehicle pulls out of the parking lot, a trail of smoke likely being the last thing you ever see of your brother. He always said that he wanted his ashes thrown into the wind of the desert, joining all the dust and dirt that never seemed to go away. In a way, it's like he gave you a funeral for him. _How perfectly ironic._

You're already out the door when the waitress comes back to collect your dishes. She smiles your way, and despite the empty confusion inside your brain, you give her a perfectly honest smile back. You walk over to the old mini van, trailing your finger along it, through the thick dust. You're going to need one hell of a car wash once you get to San Francisco and sell this baby. Everything is packed and ready, just how you left it. You climb into the driver's seat, taking a moment to settle into the comforting gush. 

It'll be hard to get rid of the thing once you settle in. It actually used to be Bro's, believe it or not. He always said that he had bought it because he realized that he couldn't speed around the city with a newborn, but you've always suspected another motive. The model must be late 70's, a few years before you were born. He must've been lying when he told you he wanted to stay behind after Jake's wedding. But something must've made him stay that wasn't there for you. You never fully believed any of Bro's stories anyway.

As you turn out of the lot and start speeding down the interstate, the temperature only increases. Even cranked as high as it can go, the air conditioning does little to help you. You put the window down, to bask in the wind, but it turns out to be the worst idea possible. A blast of humid, dusty wind slams into your face. You splutter, feeling the car swerve for a moment as you attempt to regain your bearings. Your poster of Insane Clown Posse flaps up, blocking the window. You breathe a sigh of relief, raising the window again. The poster suddenly slips through, rapidly whipping its way down the road. You cringe. A poster of Insane Clown Posse, doodled all over with mocking political shit is going to be really hard to explain for any passersby. 

You start thinking about what you're going to do when you finally arrive. Bro was right, you can take care of yourself. That's why you're already renting a space for your shop, as well as a house. At least from the back and forth emails you've had, your housemates, Karkat and Gamzee, don't sound that bad. Karkat has even agreed to help you with the record shop, now dubbed Shade Records, a helpful suggestion from Gamzee after he cracked up over a picture of you and your sunglasses. When it comes to getting records, you already have a good collection, half of which you don't even like. The space you're renting is already a record shop which didn't do that well. The owner, Jack Noir, agreed to give it to you, so long as he gets a ten percent income rate. He also admitted that his obsession with role playing a mobster may have had something to do with the business' failure thus far.

All in all, you're actually happy that you won't get there for another couple of days. This way, you have plenty of time to clear your head of John and all the other shit filling it and start making space for all the new memories and people you'll meet. It takes you a moment to register the _Welcome to New Mexico_ sign as you pass it. The clock reads _2:30 a.m_. which means you've already been driving for at least six and a half yours. You aren't even tired. Instead of looking for an exit from the highway, which you know will probably be unlikely, you pull over to the side of the road and fish your cooler out from the back of the truck. Bro always insisted on packing sandwiches and drinks on long road trips, and the good habit certainly payed off. You pull back onto the road, savoring every bite of the turkey and American cheese sandwich. The only thing that could make it anymore disgustingly patriotic than the mayonnaise is a bottle of Orange Fanta, which you have already made sure to pull out and place in the cup holder beside you

The sun starts to rise after another couple of hours of driving, slowly turning from blood red to a blazing yellow as it rises to the highest point in the sky. By noon you're tired as fuck, but that's nothing a stack of waffles from Denny's can't change. The long say of driving must be taking a toll on your brain because you just cant take it anymore. In a sudden burst of crazy energy, you roll down all the windows and turn the radio on as loud as you can, screaming aloud to Fall Out Boy and AC/DC. You spontaneously pull over to the side of the road as fast as you can when you see a sign for some sort of trail, screaming as loud as you can and running straight down the path as fast as humanly possible. You must look something like a rabid Tarzan to the few families and sight seers that you pass, but you don't give a shit. Or at least you don't until you've run half a mile without a water bottle

The second day of driving is much the same. When you finally made it to another motel the night before, it was somewhere around midnight. You got up early in the morning, after only a few hours of heavy, dreamless sleep. Fortunately this time there are no random outbursts and no cringe worthy posters flapping down the interstate. Your heart almost stops for a moment when you finally see the _Welcome to San Francisco_ sign. You grab the address out of the glove box, glancing down at the map. This might be a little harder than you thought.

The record shop is easier to find than you expected. As you drive past it, you take in the quaint little place, smiling at the big letters above the door. The space isn't that big, but it has plenty of space for the rows and rows of billions of types of vinyl records, as well as new and old Cd's alike. Someone has hung a sing in the window, reading _Opening night in 3 days!_

From what Karkat and Gamzee have told you, the house should only a matter of blocks from here. Gamzee said that the two places were within walking distance of each other, but he supposedly has disappeared and showed up halfway across the city before, so who knows what his preference is. As you turn the corner, according to the directions, you enter a quiet looking neighborhood. There's no wonder that a third housemate was encouraged, considering that all the houses are three stories tall. Each floor is probably big enough to be a small apartment

You finally find it, _5767 West River Drive_. The house looks just like all the others, with the exception of a small cluster of balloons tied to the porch railing and an unimpressed looking young man leaning against it. He looks up as you pull into the driveway and climb out of the van. Somehow the serious, almost grumpy, disposition of the man makes you think that he's probably Karkat. He sticks his hand out for you to shake. You take it, trying to sum him up. He's about your height and build, which is tall and lean, but still with a good layer of muscle. He must be Turkish or something, with distinctive dark hair and skin

"You must be Richie," he says, with the most pissed expression you have ever witnessed.

"You must be Karkat," you say in an identical tone. "Actually, it's Dave, Dave Strider. It's fascinating you actually fell for that ruse." 

"Wow, you actually managed to make yourself sound even more fucking pretentious than this bullshit of reality."

The two of you stand there in silence. After a moment you both burst into laughter, pulling each other into a tight embrace. To anyone else it would appear that two best friends were finally reuniting, which isn't that far off. You must have talked to your housemates for months over emails. You feel as close to them as you do, well did, to John.

Karkat pulls back, going back to his grumpy and stoic expression, exactly how you always imagined him when the two of you talked. "It's great to finally meet you and all, but there's a certain lazy fucker that still hasn't come out of the house." He walks up onto the porch, opening the door and shouting, "Gamzee! Get off your lazy ass and come meet our new housemate!"

Something that you interpret as one big groan comes from inside the house. "Fuck," you hear Karkat whisper from under his breath, walking into the house. "Wait a minute while I clean this fucknut's mess up!" he calls.

You walk up the porch steps, sitting down on the considerably ironic porch swing. Karkat argued that it was nice and comforting, but you easily beat him by pointing out that there are no elderly couples or small children living in the house or visiting for that matter. Still, you have to admit that the back and forth motion of the wooden structure, as well as the creaking chains and the gentle breeze make it an incredibly relaxing sensation. 

"Did you fall asleep or some shit? Wow, I can't believe I went and got another fucking lazy ass housemate," Karkat prods your shoulder. You open your eyes, sitting up.

"I don't usually fall asleep in porch swings," you mutter

"Good, maybe you're still worth fucking something, now come on in. Choose a room before Gamzee chooses one to go retch all of his guts out in," he guides you inside. The entire place looks normal enough, but strewn with all sorts of nerdy stuff that any college boy should have. Karkat walks you up to the second floor. You can hear retching sounds coming from the bathroom, which must be Gamzee. One of the bedroom doors is open, giving you a full view to what looks like a huge wall poster of Will Smith in The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.

You chuckle, "Is that what I think it is?"

Karkat's eyes follow your finger, his face turning red when he spots the poster. He quickly crosses the hall and slams the door shut. His voice is furious, but his cheeks are a flaming red as he turns towards the next flight of stairs, "I swear to god I am going to fucking slaughter you if you ever put so much as a fucking hair in my room."

You raise your hands in surrender, "Fine, dude. You just don't see one of those posters everyday." You chuckle as Karkat swears under his breath, flipping you off.

"Pick one of these," he gestures to the two doors in the hall. "But I have to warn you that if we pick a fourth imbecile to help pay rent, these two cell blocks have a joined bathroom. I hope you aren't the pervert you say you are, Strider. That'd be a negative life change for me. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to start unpacking that sad excuse for transportation you have out in the driveway before our neighbors start calling the police to confirm their suspicions that this is a pedophile crack house."

"Thanks, Vantas," you smirk, which he replies to in a grumble as he retreats back down into the house. You walk over to one of the doors, opening it to be greeted by what looks a lot like the pedophile crack house that Karkat was speaking about. The walls are painted black and the carpet is covered in all sorts of shitty stains, in both the literal and I-don't-want-to-fucking-know sense. Despite the rank odor and the slashed furniture, a large window lets plenty of sunshine pour in. With only a little bit of the backyard tree and house behind it blocking the view, the window otherwise shows the San Francisco skyline. Anybody has to admit that a clothespin, a few buckets of bleach, and a staple gun could make this a suitable room.

The next one looks more like an abandoned attempt at the totally sweet gaming room down on the first floor. The view is nice, but it only shows a clip of what the other one does. Wires are sticking out all over the place where some sort of VCR or Xbox must have been. The only furniture consists of a soft, leather couch and a small dining room table awkwardly shoved against the wall, with a rickety, but fixable, swirly chair. It's not a bad place to crash.

Oddly enough, the bathroom is actually in better shape than both rooms. It looks like Karkat actually was set on keeping it clean, even stocking the closet with regular supplies like towels and soap. For seemingly no reason at all, the yellowing shower curtain is depicting a neon orange tiger jumping over a bright purple rock, with a blue and green paisley background. That's definitely something you need to fix right away, even if it is ironic.

A towel to seal the crack and block out the stench of the other room and everything is good to go. Karkat helps you unload your belongings up into the old gaming room, pulling out a few blankets and a pillow from the hall closet. Gamzee still hasn't showed his face, but Karkat warns you to keep all doors and windows to the room shut and locked in the night. To tell the truth, you aren't really sure if you want to know why, making a mental note to avoid Gamzee's room at all costs. 

Overall, you're really pleased with how things turned out. Karkat promised that there would be some sort of welcoming party tomorrow night where you could meet new people and get associated with the hang out joints. As you pull the blankets up around you on the leather couch, you take a moment to smile. This is it, your new, perfect life. It's good, even if you only got here through all that fucking pain. As you drift off, some part of your brain wonders how permanent tear stains are on leather upholstery.


	4. The Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with The Parent Trap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of a big milestone, both in respects to general progress and the subtle hints I've dropped throughout it. You can try to find them if you want but I'm not sure how well that'll go.

Three years has done its job well. He's certainly older, like that's anything avoidable. You still see the tiny little bot you once knew, though. You can remember the teetering tot, giggling with his chubby little face as the two of you chased each other around the yard and around the swing set. All of you and your friends, even though it had only ever been you, Rose, John, and Jade, had always loved that thing, from the moment their dad put it in the yard to now, even when all of you were taller than it. You recorded your growth on the poles, unlike other kids who used stupid, overrated door frames.

"Can I, uh, use your restroom?" he asks, staggering back from the counter slightly.

"Back corner," you don't dare to move.

"T-thanks," there he goes, disappearing from your life once more. Part of you wants to run after him and grab a hold, never letting go. Another part wants to flee again, hide halfway across the world this time. You know it would never work. You can't escape from John Egbert again.

Someone taps on your shoulder from behind, completely startling you. You whip around ready to fucking karate chop the face off of the assaulter, but relax. It's just Karkat, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. "I thought you were supposed to be smooth, Strider. That back there was the most fucking pathetic excuse for a human being I have ever seen with my own fucking eye balls," he speculates in his regular, grumpy tone.

"I wasn't- That was- I, uh," you stutter, randomly gesturing towards the back, fumbling with your words and really everything in general

"Strider, you have delved even further into loserville than I could have ever fucking imagined. I mean, it's not like this shitty excuse for a universe slammed _him_ into this rusty dung bucket," he leans back, eyes growing wide, "unless that _was him._ Please don't tell me that was him." You nod bluntly, staring at Karkat, the only person you will ever allow to let see you completely helpless. "Shit," he breathes, gently steering you into the back of the shop, seating you in the little storage space the two of you somehow organized as the world's tiniest break room.

"Fuck, what do I _do_? It's not like I can just walk up to him and say 'Hey bro, how've you been for the past three years? Coping with my sudden leave? Yeah, sorry about that, I was in _love_ with you!'" you can feel the panic rising in your throat. Karkat squeezes your arm, kissing you on the head in that oddly motherly way he has. You never know where he got it from, considering he's usually such a fucking Grinch all the time. Honestly, the last thing he would need to complete the transformation would be sour green blood, like an old rotten lime.

"You are going to fucking yourself together, okay? He hasn't come out yet and if he's anything like you told me, the little shit head will be in a stupor just as bad as you are. Don't make me slap your fucking face or pull some fancy ass shit like _The Parent Trap_ , got it?" He walks out of the room, leaving you with your face in your hands, mumbling about, _How the fuck does he have so much knowledge about old TV shows and movies?_ It comes like a sixth sense to him

You finally have yourself gathered together, pacing back and forth, when there's a knock on the door. You turn your head to watch as John walks in slowly, keeping his eyes averted to the ground. You have to give Karkat some credit, he really knows how to organize the world's most painfully stressful reunion

It takes a minute before you sit down. It doesn't take much to avoid John's eyes; it seems like you both have the same objective in mind. John slouches forward, you can feel his blazing gaze fall on you. "What the fuck, Dave!" his voice is obviously furious, but you can hear that's he's almost on the brink of tears, "You just get up and leave with no warning on my fucking _wedding night?_ " There's an akward moment when you look up, meeting eyes. His are usually perfectly blue and clear, but they're puffy and dull now. Shit, you think, _Was he crying?_

You look away, rolling your shoulder to get a more comfortable position angled further away from facing him. "That's it? That's all you have to say for yourself? Please, Dave there has to be some kind of _explanation_!" You can feel him looking at you, searching for any sort of answer, but you give him none. You're slowly tapping into the cool kid wall that you had back in Huston, draining as much emotion as you can away from yourself. " _Face me, Dave. Look at me_."

His temper is slipping, and it's going fast. You shift back around in your seat, raising your head and praying harder than you ever have, maybe even the first time that you ever have, to please, please, not let your eyes show emotion. Staring straight at John's face, watching as he seems to retreat, you want to believe that it worked, but there's no way that you can rely on that. " _Why_ ," he says, his tone turning from angry to pleading. It used to be that you would do anything for him when he gave you that look and that desperate tone, and you still likely will, but three years has in fact done its job.

"I can't go for a change of scenerey every once and a while, Egbert? It's like you've never heard of this glorious concept called a vacation," your voice is smooth and level as if nothing was wrong, which is such a lie.

"For three years? So classy you fuckass," there's his temper, climbing back from the gates of hell.

"Sheesh, Egbert. Calm your tits. It's not that big of a deal."

"Not that big of a deal? _Not that big of a deal?_ " He stands up, slamming his hand on the table like a lawyer in an over dramatic movie. "That was the biggest night of my life, _not to mention that-_ " he cuts off as he slumps back into his chair,"you're my best friend, and I always want you by my side. I fucking searched for you for three years until Jade and Rose made me take a break, and look where that brought us." He laughs, seemingly to himself. It's that kind of sickly sweet laugh that comes out when you're so overwhelmed with feeling that your brain doesn't seem to work anymore.

"It's about time for Karkat and me to close up shop," you say, to almost no one in particular.

John lets out another laugh, this one sounding particularly painful, "Oh, so that's it? We finally see each other again after three years, and all you do is kick me out of this little shop? I saw what record you were selling, Dave. That stupid record we used to listen to, Blue Oyster Cult or whatever, the one with the scratch in it that made this screeching sound. That thing was better than any of the screaming goat memes going around these days. Dammit," he looks you in the eye again, "Dave, what happened to us?"

You feel like you're going to choke on the air in your throat and die with a huge knot of guilt in your stomach. "What do you want me to promise, it's not like I can just automatically say yes. You've got everything you could ever want anyway."

John's tone turns back to serious, "I don't know why I didn't tell you before, Dave, but it's far from that. My parents are getting a divorce, and it's nothing but hate. Jade sided with my dad and I'm with my mom and I just," he starts to trail off, "I just don't know anymore."

"John-"

"No, Dave. I don't want your pity. That's all I've been getting for three years running. If you don't want me here, then I won't intrude."

"John, I-"

"Sorry it had to end up this way."

"John, _stop_!" You catch him just before he walks out the door. _Fuck,_ you think as he looks at you with complete shock, _you dropped all your cool. Time to improvise._ You straighten yourself out, stepping back, "You'll just have to let me find the time to explain, _okay_? But I'm just- I'm glad you're back, John."

You drag him into a totally uncool hug that neither of you exaclty expected. You're both rigid and tense, like you're afraid that the two of you won't fit together anymore and will shatter in some unfixable way. "I'm glad too, Dave."


	5. The Chat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with the coffee and crab

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all your support even though I've only been posting for three days! This chapter came out surprisingly easily, but considering school, more complicated plot lines, and other stuff, things are going to start to get a lot slower. That's what sugar is for, right? *hurl*

You don't even look at him. You just zone in on the mug of warm coffee you're holding in a death grip on the kitchen table. _Oh wow,_ you think as you stare into the dark abyss of the mug, _I never realized how entirely fascinating cream in coffee actually is. Not, to mention look at that curling steam, that's pretty great._ There's no way that this is some silly distraction, Dave fucking Solo doesn't do silly distractions.

" _Ahem_."

Well there goes you master plan. You look up to meet John's eyes. He quickly glances away, and even though it's only for a fraction of a second, you get the feeling that he is equally, if not more, uncomfortable than you. You sigh, keeping your constant cool kid guise as you scratch at a small groove in the table's surface. It feels wrong and unnatural to see John in this John-free kitchen as of forever till today.

"Yes?" you say, immediately regretting what sounded like the most pompous ass ever.

John reflects your thought by raising a quizzical eyebrow in an _"um, okay?"_ expression. "I thought that we were going to catch up or something?"

For what must be a full century, you sit dead still, suppressing one of the biggest blushes on the face of the earth. "Oops," you say, gulping down a huge mouthful of coffee, attempting to burn your voice box before it can do any more damage. This entire inviting John over to the house thing was all Karkat's idea, _Thanks so much for that, Vantas._

"Er," there John goes, avoiding eye contact again, "so I guess I should tell you about Rose first of all."

"What about her?"

"Well, she moved to New York. I think she's doing some work at some local theatre there, like playing violin in the orchestra for shows and also helping a lot in directing and writing and what not. She met some girl who's in the fashion business, at some magazine, maybe _Vogue_?"

Your eyebrows shoot up, "Oh wow it sounds like she's doing really well. What about you and Jade?"

"Jade opened up a flower show back home. Even though it's more like an indoor farmer's market. Dad's helping her with finance. I'm working at a bakery with Mom."

You stifle a small chuckle, " _You_ opened a _bakery_?"

His face turns pink, "Oh shut up Mom and I can bake!"

You shake your head with a laugh, "That's not what I'm talking about! It just disturbs me to think of you as a _Serious Business_ kind of guy. You couldn't even play a game of monopoly with _gushers_ replacing the cash!"

John's face turns a few shades darker, "Vriska's handling that. She's got a pretty good handle on money, believe it or not."

Your smirk from comparing John's current shade with Uncle Vernon slips away at the name. "Ah," you say plainly, taking another sip of your coffee.

"Oh, and another thing...," John starts to trail off and takes a sip of his own tea from Karkat's _Mr. Crabby_ mug, looking as if he wants to avoid the subject he himself brought up. He never really could handle caffeine, despite the immunity against sugar crashes that his mother helped him build up. It was always tea at his house, an entire world of it neatly packed away in a kitchen cabinet.

"What is it?" you ask, perfectly aware that you could be treading on very sensitive grounds.

John bites his lip, making something inside you lurch even in the current context, "You know your ex?"

"Which one?" _Dick Move,_ you think as he sends a glare your way.

"Terezi."

"Yeah, what about her?"

"Well, she got a job as a Criminal Defense Attorney. She was pretty great at it and she was also really happy."

"Is there any reason you're using past tense?"

"Well... She went blind."

You put your mug back down on the table with an audible _thump_ and a splash of hot liquid you'll be sure to remember later. " _What?_ " you say, you jaw slack with utter shock.

John winces at your expression. "It's still being looked into, but what it looks like is that one of her clients somehow sneaked in when she working late at the office one night. According to the medical report, they somehow burned her corneas with some bright light," he looks into his mug and swishes the tea around, "They still haven't found out who did it or exactly how it was done, and she's insisting on being put on the case. Everyone's pretty worried about her but, overall, she's taking it really well."

"Oh. _Damn_. Is it permanent?"

John nods, "As far as they can tell. She dug out some insane dragon head walking stick out of her attic. She actually doesn't seem to mind that much."

You lean back in your chair. " _Damn_ , I just can't believe it. It doesn't seem real."

"I know, right?" John smiles weakly.

You start to cringe as you remember the burn on your hand, standing up and walking over to the sink. "Anything else? Like maybe about Bro?" you ask, wincing at the cold water.

John sighs, "After you left, your Bro just kind of went even more quiet than he usually was. After a few months that online Smuppet selling business started to fail for seemingly no reason, and he just sort of vanished." He looks up as you take your hand out from under the faucet, now sporting a bright pink and raw burn. Why the hell did Karkat have to insist on fresh coffee?

"Oh wow," John stands up, grabbing a towel from the counter and grabbing your hand and gently dabbing at it. You bite your tongue to try to keep from shrinking away. "You know you never actually gave me a straight answer to why you left," he says, with a firm grip on your fingers.

 _Dammit,_ you think, _He's got me right where he wants me._

 _Karkat is going to be on the warpath._ "There's an extra room up on the top floor next to mine. It's barren though, so you'll have to borrow some blankets and stuff until you can rent furniture or some shit. You willing to pay rent?"

John raises his eyebrow in a mix of delight and shock. "Yeah!" he exclaims, "I can pay whatever! Thanks a lot Dave I dont' know how much more I could handle back home. Your housemates don't mind, do they?"

You shake your head, "Nope. Not at all. Gamzee probably won't even notice you and Karkat is pretty chill." _You are going to fucking die._


	6. The Meteor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with "the truth" and the bar

You were five billion thousand trillion and seventy-two percent right.

Karkat is mad. Mad's not the right word, Mr. Crabby is fucking monkey shit throwing _furious_.

You have to bite hard on the inside of your cheeks to not burst open laughing at the thought. Karkat is, in fact, standing right in front of you, waving the very _Mr. Crabby_ mug that John just drank out of and ranting on and on about what a shit head you are and how he's tempted to set Gamzee on the loose. The later is a scary thought but you're still imagining his screeching and scratching himself in a zoo habitat. Besides, wasn't it _his_ idea to invite John over in the first place? The dead silence hits you like a punch from Optimus Prime. Okay, maybe a brick wall would be the more identifiable metaphor.

"Did I, er, say that out loud?" you say meekly, relaxing your jaw and getting a tangy taste from the bites on the inside of you mouth. _Oh shit,_ you think, watching his hand slam to the ground, _There goes his favorite mug._ Well, it was really just  _your_ favorite mug to watch him drink out of.

Karkat's face is flaming red. He takes a single step forward, his shoe crunching on the ceramic shards, jabbing you hard in the chest with his finger. "So it's _my_ fault now, is it? I fucking did this so you could get the shit you'e been bitching and sobbing about for the past three fucking years out of the way and _move on!_ I never said anything about extending this fucking frilly unicorn sparkle tear reunion with the clueless fucknut to a _permanent sleepover!"_

You gulp, your terrified mind blank as to what to say. "You killed the frowny crab," you whisper, pointing under his foot. His nostrils flare, steaming hot air blasting you in the face, but he steps away with clenched fists.

"I'll clean this shit up," he says, cracking his knuckles in a way that makes you think of a serial killer, "but you have to go and sum up this shit to the fucking drugee upstairs."

You shake your head, "No, man, you're fucking insane."

Karkat growls at you like a feral dog, "He's asleep. I'd suggest avoiding the air horn this time." Karkat turns around, walking over to the linen closet, retrieving the broom and dust pan. He turns back and sees you still leaning against the counter. "Go!" he barks, using the end of the broom handle to pointedly gesture in the direction of the stairs.

You continue to shake your head. "I am not prepared to die." Karkat begins to prod you with the broom. "Nope!"

He grits his teeth and throws a deadly glare at you, but you still stand your ground. "Fine! If you're really going to be like this!" You bow to him as he passes you, shoving the broom and the dust pan into your hands. You bend down, starting to clean up the shards, pausing for a second. As you look up behind you, you spot Karkat standing in the doorway, looking at you. He quickly averts his eyes.

"What?" you say. He shakes his head, cautiously meeting you eyes again. He sighs. "You just know I really don't like John. No matter how much you care for him he's still such an oblivious ass. I don't care what he's like now, but one step out of line and your on probation." With that, Karkat turns to walk up the stairs and wake up his best friend.

"Probation!" you exclaim, shocked at the turn of events. The front door opens and shuts, John walking into the kitchen and looking at your expression in confusion.

"What happened?" he asks, setting the bag of groceries on the table. He had said that it was the least he could do, with all of you letting him stay for who knows how long. However, you are truly worried about all the cans of Barbasol shaving cream you saw him add to the list. No person needs as many cans as that, and knowing John, though you really aren't sure how much you know about him anymore, it can't be any sort of even remotely honest purpose.

"Gamzee's just asleep, but Karkat wants to talk to him," you lie, chewing on your lip as you finish sweeping up the shards.

"Oh, okay," John says, starting to move items into the fridge. "I'm going to ask for you to answer my question one more time. It's been at least two hours. You squint at him, pretending to be confused.

"Hm?"

"Why the hell did you ditch everyone back home? Why did you ditch me on my wedding night?" You can't hear the last thing he mumbles.

Your gut twists itself into knots that no scout could ever manage. "I, uh..." you start to trail off, almost considering telling the truth, "Karkat was an old friend from college and he told me about the record shop he was wanting to open and I thought it was a great idea, you know? But I got the feeling that everyone would be really mad at me for saying I preferred some friend they didn't know over, basically, my family, so I just..." _Smooth move, Strider. A fucking apple wouldn't believe a word of that, and_ they're  _you're most trusted and gullible friends._

"Oh...," John says. He looks a little sad, almost disappointed in you. "You could have told us, you know."

 _Phew._ "Heh, yeah I realize what an idiot I was. But I just... realized my mistake a little late."

"You wish you did."

"Wait, what?"

"Nothing."

"Er..."

"So!" he turns back around with that familiar, big, goofy grin on his face, "What've you been doing all these years? Being a social hermit is not your style, so fess up!"

You can't help but smile back a little bit, despite how upside-down you feel at the moment. "Oh, you mean the Meteor?"

-*-*-*-*-*-

The Meteor is not just a bar, it's _the_ bar. The closest equivalent of it would probably be MacLaren's Pub from _How I met Your Mother_. Everyone gathers there all the time, even though there's not much of a menu. In that case, they share pretty close customers with Alchemized, a buffet restaurant just next door. It has everything from grape juice, to Chinese rice noodles, to German strudels and back again.

The Meteor is also where Karkat brought you the second night of your moving in. By some miraculous miracle, or at least that's how you see it now, Gamzee was actually up and about. He tagged along and you had a genuinely good time. It helped you forget about home, if only for a few hours.

Now John, a specimen of the universe that you never thought would grace the Meteor, or any of your life in San Francisco in that case, stares at the front of the bar skeptically. The tall, neon letters hanging above the door are a bright white, nearing silver. Obviously the 'O' is in the shape of a meteor. As always, a brightly lit chalkboard sits in the tiny front display case, displaying the name Alchemized, styled with all sorts of elaborate alchemy symbols. It lists different types of specials and deals included with both businesses, simply requiring a shown receipt to earn a discount. The so called specials and deals have never changed.

You tug on John's sleeve, ushering him into the bar. Inside is a bit more dimly lit, the overall theme being somewhat like a space shuttle. Some of the tables have actual swivel chairs for seemingly no reason, everything else being blocky but sleek all at the same time. Following the strange 80's and space themes, _Safety Dance_ plays in the background of the chatter.

You immediately spot Feferi's bright hair, a mass of purply pink curls. She looks up and smiles at you, her eyes quickly darting to John in confusion. Eridan sees Fef looking up, and looks up as well, attempting to say something to her. However, Sollux has wedged himself between the two of them. He's doing a great job of blocking Eridan in all ways, despite how drunk he is. Karkat sits on the other side of the booth, his back turned to you. You know he's just ignoring you.

Purposely, you sit in-between Karkat and John in the booth. Sitting next to him in the first place isn't currently the best idea, but it'll have to do for now. He glares at you through the side of his eye. Sollux rolls his eye. Yes, his singular eye. The left eye is glass, something that isn't really discussed any more.

You introduce John, watching as he glances at Sollux's eye a few times. Sollux clearly notices, taking the opportunity to pull down his eyelids and roll his right eye around. John retreats with a horrific expression, exactly what Sollux was going for.

"Cut it, Sollux," you say. He snickers, but probably just because of his alcohol consumption. He has a serious problem, something that Feferi is slowly helping him work on. Now, she simply smiles sweetly at John, pushing Sollux back against the booth. John smiles back sheepishly, clearly still unnerved by her almost boyfriend. Well, if that's what you can call it. The three across the table don't exactly have the cleanest or clearest relationship.

"So," Fef says, "your name is John but how exactly do you know Dave?" You never actually told any of them the full story. They know about the record shop, but not anything past that being your supposed motivation to move here.

You speak up before John can, "He's just an old childhood friend. He was on vacation and came to see how I was. People get clingy when you haven't seen them in years!" You have to stop yourself from rustling John's hair like some five year old. Eridan is already giving you a suspicious look. Karkat's expression simply says _What the actual fuck?_

John glances at you, "Yeah, I mean I figured I might as well. He hasn't been that talkative."

Feferi laughs, "That sounds nothing like the Strider  _I_  know!"

"Yeah...," John chuckles slightly.

Eridan rolls his eyes. "I think I need a drink," he says, gesturing for Feferi and Sollux to move.

"So do I," Karkat says. You and John start to scoot out of the booth. "You," he points at John, "come on, you haven't seen the so called 'wonders' of this fucking dump yet."

"No, I don't really drink," John retorts with a nervous look on his face.

"Nonsense, you're over twenty one, aren't you?" Eridan says, shoving John towards the bar.

Feferi grins as you as soon as all three of them are gone. "You _like him!"_ she giggles. Sollux grins and wiggles his eyebrows at you.

You can feel your face grow red. _It shouldn't be so fucking obvious! Is it though?_

As if reading your mind, Feferi and Sollux nod in unison. "Do you think he knows?" you ask a little quieter. This time they shake their heads in unison, like something out of a cartoon. Still, both of them have little smirks on their faces.

"Stop that," you hiss as Eridan comes back, slamming his ridiculous looking drink on the table and pointedly sitting down next to Fef. Karkat follows, sandwiching himself between you and John. As John sits down, Sollux still wiggling his eyebrows, it looks as if Eridan and Karkat somehow persuaded him into ordering 'the Ectobiologist'. The drink is tall and thin, god knows that no one can stomach more than the glass already contains. The Mayor is evil like that, though it probably contains Tab. The color of John's face doesn't look far off from the drink, a slimy green substance.

"Just fucking try it, unicorn shorts," Karkat says, coming up with some sort of new phrase for the ever present 'sissy'. John looks at him, and then you, skeptically.

"I just really don't drink and I'm not so sure about-"

"Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it!" Sollux starts, Eridan and Karkat joining in. People turn around, laughing and starting to chat along. John looks as if he wants to disappear. Finally, seizing the glass, he knocks back part of the drink. People cheers as the glass comes back down, John making a choking sound and rapidly shaking his head. You know that concentrated alcohol and John's lack of capacity for it are really not going to go well tonight or tomorrow.

John laughs nervously as everyone else snickers. "Cheers!" he says meekly, continuing to drink it. You elbow Karkat, leaning over and dropping your voice.

"He can't hold alcohol for shit, knuckle head."

You almost glance a smirk on Karkat's lips. "Oops," he grumbles, "but I guess that our uninvited visitor isn't _my_ problem."

"Low, Vantas. That's just low."

"By the way, I threw out that fucking piece of animal skin trash from the old shitty gaming room yesterday."

"The leather couch? Dude, that's where John was going to-"

"It was yesterday," he says with a shrug. "I mean he could always sleep on the living room couch-"

"Don't you fucking dare. You know that Gamzee's on the prowl every night."

"Then I can't help you."

"Whatcha whisperin' about?" John asks loudly, leaning forward to see you from around Karkat.

"Do you mind staying in my room for a while?" Feferi is beaming.

"Nooope!" his face is already flushed from the Ectobiologist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm... How would you all feel about a grumpy ass bartender WV? Secret stash of Tab implied.


	7. The Night on the Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with a tiny politician and his district

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so just as a really quick warning, I've realized this fic is pretty heavy with the curse words. You've been warned.

Some people might think that Karkat is your best friend.

_WRONG_

Despite the odd situation, whether they knew about it or not, other people might think that John is still your best friend.

_WRONG_

"So who does that leave?" people might then ask. Sollux?

Nice guy but no. Eridan?

_God no._

Feferi?

_She's great but no._

Gamzee?

_Wait what, are you actually serious? What the fuck would posses you to even think that?_

No, your best, best, best, best, best friend ever is someone very special. Currently he's glaring at you. Somehow he's managing to glare at you while squinting his eyes and giving you that, 'Are you fucking insane?' look.

You always though that the bar tender was an interesting looking guy since Karkat first brought you to the Meteor (not in _that_ way, god no). He's of a short but muscular stature (he's 4'11" but he claims 5'1") and you've literally never seen him wear anything other than that color of black that makes it look like you've got a hole in your body. It matches his hair quite nicely, a mess of black to go along with his scraggly beard and eyebrows. The most colorful thing about him are his eyes, a weirdly offsetting caramel color. They're like a reminder that he's not just part of some black and white 1940s photo.

"Beer," he states sharply, slamming the bottle down in front of you. he adjusts the black leather cabbie hat that you've also literally never seen him without. When you say 'literally' you mean that you've actually tried to imagine him in something else other than just this attire, but you had to stop (not like you managed to in the first place) before it created a paradox void and destroyed all of creation. A shower of precisely aimed asteroids would probably do pretty well too.

"So," you say, picking up the beer and swishing the liquid around inside. Or at least you try to. You haven't actually taken a sip yet so the liquid instead pours itself onto the counter, earning very grumpy 'harumph' from the Mayor.

Yes, that's right, _the_ Mayor. Okay well not _that_ Mayor, but the 'Mayor.' He only lets his close friends call him that. His full name, William Van Buren (people joke that the presidential relation is where he got his defined, fluffy sideburns) is what he despises above anything else in the world. Most people call him WV.

"Clean that up will you?" he snaps at Penelope, who's walking past the counter with a tray of glasses and a towel.

Penelope Morris, who has the whitest hair you've ever seen in your life (she's not old she just has a lot a lot of hair dye of bleach or something apparently) sighs and swipes the spill up in one go. "Please refrain for spilling anymore. You two have your quality alone time that I really don't want to... 'interfere' with."

"'Interfere'? You make it sound like some creepy 50 sheds of Hay shit," the Mayor says, wiping down a glass before he starts serving another customer sitting next to you.

"50 sheds of Hay? Do you mean '50 Shades of Grey?'" Penelope asks. The Mayor's pop culture limits seem to end at grasping the fact that pop culture exists in the first place.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

"Two martinis for table eight please."

"Martinis? You're kidding me right. I don't fucking do martinis."

"Well would you look at that! It's a menu with, gasp, gasp, _what?_ Two martinis for table eight please," she smiles brightly.

"Screw you."

"Love you two, Van Buren," she walks away, blowing a kiss, through the 'staff only' double doors. Why there are dark maroon swinging double doors in an 80s and space themed restaurant fails to make any sort of sense in your mind.

"So," the Mayor finally replies, turned around to make the two martinis for table eight, "what's tonight's sob fest?"

You stare into your beer for a moment, thinking. Last night was the first time in a very, very long time that you've had John on your mind. Possibly because he was sleeping five feet away from you, in your room. You thought he was never going to go to sleep because he kept gaping at all of the doodle on your walls. One day, you got bored, so you picked up some kind of special paint from some local DIY shop and painted your already black walls into a magical chalkboard room. It's mostly Sweet Bro & Hella Jeff, but there's some other concepts you're working on too. You can't stay in the record shop forever, after all.

You couldn't stop thinking about the fact that there was another actually person sleeping in your room. You couldn't stop thinking about the fact that that other person sleeping in your room was John. You couldn't stop thinking about the fact that John was married. You couldn't stop thinking about the fact that marriage had nothing to do with the moon. You couldn't stop thinking about the fact that the moon was too bright in your face, even through your blinds. You couldn't stop thinking that despite the fact that you should roll over, it felt like eyes were boring into your back. You couldn't stop thinking about the fact that it was your own paranoid imagination. You couldn't stop thinking about the fact that it probably wasn't.

This is exactly what you tell to the Mayor. He simply nods, helpfully pointing out how obvious it is that you didn't get any sleep.

"Hey, PM, take over the rest of my shift tonight," he says over his shoulder as Penelope walks out of the double doors for at least the fifth time since you last talked.

"What? You can't ask me to do-"

"Yes I can, I fucking own this bar."

"No you do-"

"I hope you're happy to know that the seven year existent lease says otherwise."

"Okay, Van Buren."

"Ten percent paycheck decrease!" the Mayor barks, almost cheerily, as he half points, half shoves you through the swinging doors.

"Oh no! I broke your black Giants mug!"

"Oops, there goes the other ninety percent! What's a guy to do?"

You've gotten used to their relationship by now.

"Why am I in the 'staff only' quarters now?"

The Mayor grabs his jacket and scarf (holy shit it's dark brown, like a cross between his eyes and normal clothes) off of a coat rack by the back door. "I've got something to show you." He wraps his scarf around his neck and pulls his (obviously black) trench coat up closer, against the cold.

"Uh, okay?"

He walks you out the back door and into the back alleyway. It all feels like some sort of covert spy mission, or an episode of Criminal Minds. Either way, you're the guy who's going to have a knife in his throat. However, it's only the alley way that gives you this vibe. Despite his grinch nature, the Mayor is actually a completely trustable person. You wouldn't hesitate for a second to trust the tiny man with your own life.

"So, where are we going? I should probably get back home before they think I moved six states over yet again."

"Well, you've been complaining about all this shit to me for the past three or so years, right?"

You chew on your lip and stare at the ground in embarrassment. It's time like these that you wish the habit of wearing your shades wasn't currently a lost cause. "Yeah, I guess. But you don't have to put it that way."

"Shush, puny boy." The Mayor is over a foot shorter than you. "What I'm saying is you keep going on and on about your troubles, but have you ever sat down and said," he does the stupidest southern accent he can possibly muster "'I'm gonna deal with this shit!'"

You look at him with a raised eyebrow. "Are you saying that that's what I sound like?" "Well you're from Texas, aren't you?"

"Irrelevant! I have no southern accent, or at least nothing like _that!"_

"Your loss."

You're laughing, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He flaps his hand as if waving the topic away, "Anyway, you've never really sat down and gotten over shit, have you? You've just sat on a barstool and wallowed in your problems and cocktail stains."

"Get to the point, Mayor."

He throws his hands up in the air. "Get a life!"

"Are you saying that I don't already have one?"

"Yes!"

"I object!"

"Under what precedent?"

"Please, Your Honor, if you will allow me to point out the previous exhibitions of evidence. Exhibit A, I actually socialize, unlike you, and Exhibit B, Sweet Bro & Hella Jeff."

"Sweet Bee and Hello what now?"

"Sweet Bro & Hella Jeff! It was a widely renowned webcomic by readers of all ages! Well it was about 17 years ago."

The Mayor whistles, "Oh come on, even I know that 17 years is a long time."

"I'm working on other stuff," you mumble.

"Would it happen to be titled 'Woe is Me: an Illustrated Autobiography About Dave Elizabeth Strider's Love Life, or, Lack Thereof?'"

"My middle name is not Elizabeth!"

"Not as far as you'll admit."

"Besides! It's not like you're one to talk about love lives! And seeing as you're apparently so magically all-knowing about it, what would you have me do to get John to fall in love with me?"

As you expected, the Mayor looks absolutely and totally flustered, "I don't know-maybe if you-just take him to Russia!"

_"Russia?"_

"I've heard it's lovely this time of year! First hand from my folks!"

"You're parents are Russian immigrants who left for a reason! And it's one of those freeze-your-ass-off Octobers!"

The Mayor glares at you, "The snow, is in fact, very pretty. As they say, _снег в России довольно."_

"Dude, I know you're literally just saying 'the snow in Russia is pretty.' You've said it before and don't you dare think I don't know how Google translate works!"

"Here we are," he mumbles, stopping and gesturing up to a small apartment building. The two of you walk in and continue your conversation up the stairs. "Besides the point, you still need to fucking date someone."

"People say that all the time, like, 'Oh, you're depressed? You just need to get some!' It's so stupid. I'm not mentally dependent on sex."

He stops in front of an apartment door and pulls out his keys, "I'm not talking about that shit, I'm talking about, you know, the other stuff."

"Other stuff?"

"The other parts of relationships."

"Like the emotions?"

"Yeah, that stuff," he opens the door and points you into the living room. It is not what you would have ever expected.

"Dude," you breath, knee deep in a... city of cans?! All of the floor is taken up stacks of cans, books, and other intimate objects positioned to look like buildings. 'Hello my name is' labels masking tape drawn on with permanent marker labels various parts 'town hall', 'hospital', and 'toxic waste plant.'

"This is my hobby," the Mayor says, dumping his coat in the kitchen and stepping into the middle of the town square. He walks a few side streets over and crouches, pointing to a building made out of a pizza box and dictionary. "This is where they study sleep patterns. You should go there some time."

"Uh yeah," you say skeptically, dumping your coat next to his, "maybe if I shrink myself into a plastic bottle cap. Even then I don't know how I'd get through the nonexistent doors."

The Mayor stands back up and shakes his head. "Go fucking date someone emotional kid," he says pointedly.

"Okay, who?" you cross your arms, already knowing you have this in the bag.

"I-uh..."

"Hmm?"

"Actors are good."

"Yeah, but I don't know any actors. How about somebody I do know?"

"You know those people you always sit with in the booth, right?" You start laughing, "Oh god, I would hope so."

"Good, I was getting a little worried there," the Mayor's expression looks completely honest. Sometimes you really wonder if he should be checked out at the glass jar on the left of the hospital labeled 'mental ward.' "How about the angry one? Anger is an emotion."

"Who? Eridan? Karkat?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure it's the second one. Black hair, right?"

"You should know his name! He talks to you at the bar all the time!"

"Oh please, do you really think that I bother to learn people's names? He's been making small talk with me for years."

"Should I be flattered that you bothered to learn my name, or should I be concerned?"

"Either one works for me, so long as you don't wail on about it to me."

"Okay, okay, but Karkat? Really?"

"He's got emotions, you've got emotions, the John kid's a drunk robot, everybody's happy." You can already feel yourself getting defensive "In what way is John a drunk robot?"

"Oh, you know," now instead of a southern accent, the Mayor proceeds to make beeping noises with a flat, monotone voice and waves stuff limbs, "I'm John and my best friend ran away. So now I found him and I should be overjoyed and spending time with him but I'm just getting drunk. Oh, why must I be married when I'm in love with the glorious Dave Strider?"

His words take a minute to sink in.

"Wait, _what?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA HA! Okay, so I hoped you liked that chapter! Credit to the Mayor's great travel advice to a good friend back on Instagram. Anyways, the next chapter is a pond one and I'll post it within the next two weeks.


	8. The Alley Cat - Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with Farafalla and a recycled wig

"What do you mean, _what?"_

"I mean what the fuck was that?! John, being in love with me?"

"Oh, yeah that," the Mayor scratches the back of his head. "Yeah, I may have let that one slip."

"Let that one slip? You don't even know him! You've never met him! What the fuck is your problem?!"

"Hey! I told you, people talk to me! And I listen to them, god forbid."

"He's only been here for two weeks! You know nothing but I what I told you about what he was like three years ago!"

"Oh, boohoo, Dave! He's been here two weeks, every night except tonight of which he's spent with you and the others at the bar. That girl, Farafalla or whatever, talks about your love life as if it's the most exciting thing ever."

"Farafalla? You have a problem."

"I don't give a shit what her name is! I just know that it's so blatantly obvious you two are mooning over each other that I believed it as soon as she told me!"

"Feferi?"

"Yeah, that one."

"But Feferi..." Oh.  _Oh._ Feferi picked up your feelings for John right away. She noticed the way you look at him as soon as you were seated next to each other. But she's known you for three years, she's only known John for a week. So she has to be wrong, right? But why, why, why are you so against this being the truth.

"Hey! No crushing the pizzariea!" the Mayor yells as your knees give out and you nearly collapse onto a pile of empty (you're _pretty_ sure they're empty?) peach cans.

"How long ago did she tell you?" you ask, still in a mostly stunned state. Though the Mayor is still giving you a concerned look, you can't feel any crushed city property beneath you.

"About a week ago."

"A week ago? You're telling me that for _years_ I told you how much I wished John loved me, and instead of coming straight to me and telling me the truth, you just bottle it up like a little secret that would send the world into chaotic hell?"

The Mayor shifts uncomfortably, "Well, if it makes you any happier, your friend is the one who told me not to tell you."

"Feferi did that?"

"Yeah."

You face palm, the rage slowly bubbling up that was directed towards the Mayor now erupting in a giant volcano towards Feferi. She _knows_ that you're in love with John, or at least that you have a crush the size of the moon on him. If she had known that he liked you back, and she had known for a week (if not longer), she didn't even subtly nudge you? What the hell is wrong with everyone in San Francisco?

"Is there a back alley or something behind the apartment?" you ask, trying your hardest to keep your voice level.

"Just go down to the ground floor and walk all the way back. There should be an exit door where people take trash out to the dumpsters," he says in a quiet but flat voice, "You want a beer or whatever?"

"Sure," you say, walking through his front door. You don't even bother to grab your coat, because god knows you're blazing in anger right now as is, "surprise me."

Slamming his apartment door behind you, you clump down the stairs like a gargautan mutant mix of Godzilla, King Kong, and the Hulk. Forget what those stupid teachers said back in elementary about marshmallow feet, you want the entire world to tremble in fear in the blinding wrath of the most ironic man alive.

Another pang rises in your throat thinking about, without knowing what happened to Bro, you man in fact actually be the most ironic man alive.

The Mayor gave you accurate directions. Just off the stairs, there's a little sign pointing to a dingy, black tunnel that retreats into the back of the apartment building's ground floor. Half convinced you can hear the scurry of beady little red eye rats and the whisper of some kind of preying banshee (who gives a shit about proper lore when you're pissed as hell), you walk down the hall until you nearly brake your nose on a freezing metal door.

It leads out to the back alley alright, yet another slice of San Francisco life this far away from being infested by crack heads. The dumpsters are rusty and they don't look like anyone really bothers to pick trash up. Well, someone _has_ to be picking the trash up because the alley would otherwise be overflowing with age old banana peels, dead something-or-others (not really sure if it was a plant or an animal, but either way, it's definitely dead), and dented beer cans all the way from sixty years ago. Still, it's not hard to describe the three dumpsters that are absolutely overflowing with stinking junk. You're pretty sure that suspiciously sticking wigs aren't something that can be recycled, but who said you were one of those friends of the earth?

It feels good to let the rage go, even if it's only been boiling for five minutes. Even if the air is somewhere under twenty degrees and everyone sensible on the planet is either asleep or telling you you'll get frostbite, you honestly could not care less.

As you take a huge, swinging roundhouse kick to trashcan (boy that's gonna leave a mark on your shin in the morning), something more than just childish anger at Feferi and the Mayor pops up. Names you haven't thought of in a _long_ time flood into your mind. Rose, Bro, Terezi, Jade, Jake, Karkat, Eridan, Jane, Gamzee, Roxy, Sollux, John, Vriska. You kick the can again and this time not only the names flash across your mind, but a knotted jumble of gut twisting feelings. Regret, guilt, fear, concern, jealousy, hope, confusion, lust, anger, sorrow, happiness, and just pure joy.

The trashcan is now more dented than a World War II soldier's helmet, so you turn to punching the brick wall. With every pounding of your skin onto brick, it feels like you're bursting another bubble and letting something go. Even as the concerns and hopes float away, your mind can't help but wander.

_Seriously, where'd Bro go? What does Rose think of me? With half her family gone, what happened to Aunt Roxy? With the divorce does Jane have any time to help her with her drinking problem? Why are Jade and John's parents getting divorced in the first place? Is Jade even remotely okay, with just her and Vriska holding things together? Is Vriska even helping at all? Is anyone helping Terezi with her new problems? Is anyone actually helping Sollux or Gamzee with their problems? Is Sollux too much for Feferi to handle? Is Eridan too much for Feferi to handle? Is Gamzee too much for Karkat to handle?* -Your hands drop to your sides, your knuckles bruised and bloody as you breathe heavily. -*What did I actually do? You think, What did running away three years ago actually do for anyone, let alone me?_

The sound of an overturned trashcan causes you to whip around. Luckily, this can in particular wasn't that full, except for a bunch of milk cartons and shattered glass. The strangely constant contents of the trashcan isn't the only odd thing.

Peeking over the can, two big green eyes watch you carefully. Above dark skin and a mess of wispy black hair, the possibly funniest hat you've ever seen resides. It's a bright, deep blue dangle hat, though you can't tell what material it's made out of. The two sides of the hat, atop the green eyed peeper's head, come up to two cat ear points. In the middle of the forehead, between the ears, white thread has been made to stitch a little cat face, or more accurately, a :3 face.

With the feline grace her attire suggest, a girl in nothing but a tank top and jeans, despite the freezing night, stands up and steps over the overturned trashcan. Now refreshingly conscious of the fact you're not wearing your coat, you hug your self tighter, your split knuckles stinging in the chilled breeze and bleeding all over your shirt. It's your old record shirt, and that blood probably won't come out, dammit.

The girl doesn't seem bothered by the cold, simply striding a little bit closer and looking you over again and again, like a prowling cat. Her eyes finally come to rest on your hands. "You should wrap your hands before you go punching things," she says simply, her Scottish accent ringing clear.

You hug yourself a little tighter, wincing as your cuts graze your shirt, "Yeah, well I don't really walk around thinking about what I'm going to pummel the shit out of. What about you?"

For a moment, the girl stares at her own hands, on which you can see calluses on from here, and shrugs, "I usually hit punching bags at the gym, but I'd still wrap my hands to punch a brick wall." Another thing you notice now about the girl is her build. Despite only being a few inches taller than the Mayor, she's quite muscular and lean.

"Oh come on," you smile jokingly, "brick walls are so much fun to punch!"

The girl simply cocks her head at you. -"Okay, maybe I had some ulterior motives, but it's not like my personal life is something some random stranger should be hearing."

The girl grins fiendishly, quickly and quietly stepping all the way over to you and smiling in your face. You lean back a bit, and frown. She circles around you once, and you swear she doesn't just brush by your side, but rubs against you like a cat. It's not so much creepy for some reason, it's fitting, but it's still pretty weird. "Nepeta Leijon," she says happily.

"Leyen?" you ask, trying to work it out in your head.

"L-E-I-J-O-N," she recites, as if a school lesson, _"Layon_ , like Anna-Greta Leijon."

You wonder how smart it is to give your name to a strange girl in a back alley, but meh, "Dave Strider."

"See! Now I have a name instead of 'Weird Cat Girl'!" she beams.

"'Weird Cat Girl'? What do you-"

"Nepeta!" a shockingly deep and incredibly anxious voice calls from above, "Nepeta, where are on earth are you?"

Nepeta's head shoots up to stare about three or four stories up. "Oops!" she giggles, easily gliding over the the rusty old fire escape. "See you later!" she says to you, as more of a statement than a question, before easily pulling herself up and flipping onto the fire escape. You watch with a gaping mouth as she disappears with almost no sound.

Can someone please explain what _the fuck_ just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said there was going to be a very long chapter, but in my defense this is only part one of two. I will post it next Tuesday/Wednesday


	9. The Alley Cat - Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with lots and lots of neosporin

The Mayor hands you a can of Tab when you walk back in. Raising your eyebrows, you open it and take a sip. It's not beer, you know that, but isn't it no longer sold or something? Who knows?

Without saying another word to you, he sets his own can down. "Wash those damn things," he grunts, dragging you over to the kitchen sink.

You wince visibly and bite back a cry of pain as the cold water is suddenly gushing onto split skin. Sighing as you tug away, he holds your wrists in place, running soap over the wounds and turns on the hot water. It's an increasingly painful process.

As you gently hold your clean and dry, but stining, hands, he pulls out the first aid kit. The first thing pulls out, much to your displeasure, is a spray bottle of disinfectant. "Stop being such a baby. I bet you weren't like this when you were off punching whatever the fuck you were punching," he says as you practically hiss in pain. Talk about an outstanding moment of your stoic pride.

Luckily, the rest is just some Neosporin and white bandages. He wraps them around so many times it looks like your hands are swelling. There's no way you're going to be able to do absolutely anything, but at least you learned your lesson about wrapping your hands, as well as a good guy to come to.

"So," the Mayor says, closing the first aid kit and putting it away, "are you going to tell me why you look like you were in a very one sided fight with a brick wall?"

"Maybe because I was in a very one sided fight with a brick wall?"

"Ah yes, and why might that be?"

"Oh come on, you of all people should know this!"

"Too bad."

You sigh, running your fingers over the bandages, "Well I was just thinking about everything we had been talking about and it all just kind of," you make a large gesture with your hands, "exploded."

"Mmm?"

"I wasn't just mad, and it wasn't just about John, it was like _everything_ came pouring out at once. Now I just feel stupid."

"Mmm."

"And some girl showed up. Nepeta? I swear she was some sort of cat."

The Mayor perks up at the name. "Weird Cat Girl?" he asks.

"Er," you say, now realizing why she had dubbed herself as such, "yeah."

"Oh boy, that's interesting," he says, rocking back on his feet, "I've never actually talked to her. I didn't even know she talked. I mean most humans talk, but she's like so cat like and I guess i just expected her to like me-"

"You've met her?" you ask before he takes the conversation in a whole different direction.

He waves his hand as to indicate 'sort of'. "She's a resident in the building, about two floors up. She lives with this huge ass guy. All I really know is that they're really good friends."

"Weird," you say. "Is she Scottish or something? She had a pretty distinct accent."

The Mayor shrugs, "Who knows. They moved in about five years ago. I think her friend's British. The few times I've heard him talk he sounds like a Butler."

"Hmm."

"So."

"So?"

"To continue our earlier conversation..."

You groan, taking a big gulp of your Tab, "Why did you drag me here anyway? To pester me even more about John?"

"Pester you? You're the one who comes wailing to me!" -You cover your face in embarassment, readjusting your shades. You started to wear them again just a few days after John started staying. "Stop having good points and answer me."

He gestures vaguely in the direction if the living room, "Can Town."

"Oh, that's what I was afraid of. You hailed me all the way to your apartment to see an amateur model scale of San Francisco?"

"No! No, that's not what in trying to say!"

"Then what _are_ you trying to say?"

The Mayor frantically waves his hands in a defeated sort of way. "Representations! Metaphors! You know!"

"No, I actually don't."

The Mayor sighs, "Okay just forget the thing I said about Russia."

"Done."

"So when I had hard times, I started Can Town. It worked wonders, right?"

"Sure."

"So, I'm saying, you gotta make your own Can Town."

"Huh?"

"Make your own Can Town!"

"Uh, no."

"No! Like your own thingy!"

"I'm still not getting your point."

"Your own thing that you do whenever the other stuff gets to you!"

"You seriously have to be more specific because I don't understand these 'thingy' and-"

"I'm telling you to draw, dammit!"

You hold your hands up in defeat, "Whoah there, okay."

The Mayor scratches awkwardly at his beard, "Like, to take a break from stuff."

You take another sip of Tab, "Okay, so you're telling me to find a hobby?"

"Yes."

"Got it."

The Mayor looks over at the clock and whistles, "It's almost 1:00 a.m."

"It is?" you say skeptically. Sure enough, your phone screen reads 12:48 a.m.

"Well I guess I should turn in for the night and consider whatever your advice was even supposed to mean," you say, dropping your empty can in the trash. It's still hard to maneuver easily with your bandages, but you're finding it manageable. Well, semi manageable at least.

"That was great advice!" the Mayor grunts, his usual colorful self. "I'm guessing I'm gonna see you and that kid of yours tonight?"

You sigh, pulling on your coat, "Probably."

The Mayor simply shrugs and nods.

-*-*-*-*-

The entire walk back, you dread what could be waiting for you from behind the front door. Karkat glaring at you like a pissed as hell mother? An awakened Gamzee with his eyes shining like beacons in the dark? A still drunken John with only god knows what going on in his head?

Despite the panic beating in you chest, there's only a dark, empty living room awaiting you. Relief floods over you.

Climbing the steps, you wince as they creak, but nothing and no one stirs. The only other noise you can hear is John's snoring from behind your bedroom door.

He's sprawled out, not on his own stack of blankets, but on your bed. His face is half buried in a pillow, which is now covered in drool (oh yay!). He must've been pretty damn drunk because he didn't even bother to change his clothes or crawl under the blankets. He's either going to freeze his ass off or be way too hot, oh well.

After a few violent tugs, you manage to get the sheets and comforter out from underneath him. Glancing at him one more time, you throw them over him.

Silently, you scoop up the bedding out of the floor and walk down the hall, dumping it the old, empty gaming room. It's not going to be the warmest or most comfortable thing, but it doesn't really matter.

Drawing the blankets up over yourself you think for a second about John supposedly being in love with you. Too bad. He's married so it doesn't even matter. Tomorrow night John sleeps in here.

Maybe some good rest can convince you that you're not lying to yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry peeps, but that's the end of regular posting till further notice. I'm busy for most the rest of the summer, but I'll try to get over writer's block soon. But seriously, thank you all so much. You have no idea how much all your comments and kudos mean to me.


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